


The King's Arms

by rubyofkukundu



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell & Related Fandoms, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Anal Fingering, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-20 10:57:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4784801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubyofkukundu/pseuds/rubyofkukundu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John Childermass was still yet a young man of twenty years or thereabouts he started working at an inn called the King's Arms. While there he met a pale, handsome gentleman who happened to solicit him for a very particular service.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The King's Arms

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the following prompt (<http://jsmn-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1273.html?thread=150777#cmt150777>):
> 
> _Childermass will not have recognised him at the time, but the Raven King has visited him once before. Some years before the start of the book/series he met a most peculiar man at a bar in Yorkshire, and ended up being taken back to a rented room._
> 
> _Feel free to take the above prompt and run with it, but I've got a few bonus points to hand out:_
> 
> _\+ In a roundabout way The Raven King is responsible for Childermass' employ with Norrell_   
>  _\+ it's pretty, slender book!Uskglass, and he tops Childermass mercilessly_

When John Childermass was still yet a young man of twenty years or thereabouts1 he found it suddenly expedient to leave Whitby and take up some other career.2 Thinking, perhaps, to seek his fortune in town he struck out across country towards York. The journey, however, took some time, for he had only his two feet to carry him save when he could persuade a friendly carter to take him up here and there. Yet he made progress by and by, and it was when he had nearly reached York and was but a few miles from it, that the carter he was then travelling with stopped at a roadside inn to rest his horse. This was not such an easy thing as would be supposed, as this inn was at that moment lacking an ostler and so the carter was left to tend to his horse himself. Yet, while the carter grumbled (which he did, very much), fortune was instead shining upon John Childermass, who fancied that the position of an ostler was rather appealing when set against his last career. Applying directly to the landlord, therefore, John Childermass quickly took up the said vacancy and there remained at the inn to follow his new path.

The inn itself went by the name of the King's Arms and had for a sign, on a pole in front of it, a picture of a raven in flight upon a white background. It was no very special place. Once, perhaps, its fortunes had been greater than they were now, for the building was fairly large and all of the same old-fashioned style, with wooden beams that listed to the side and curved at odd angles. There was a hall, as well as a bar, and coats of arms made of stained glass in several of the windows.3 Only half of the building was now in use (the second half being kept by the landlord as a store for his grain), and that was by far large enough for the purposes of the inn at that time.

Of patrons, the inn had several regulars, who came in daily to drink the beer and pass on the gossip (which was of a very particular sort; it being farming country). Every so often people travelling on their way to York would also stop and take refreshments or stay the night; these were mostly carters or carriers, or gentlemen of the middling sort who could not afford to stay anywhere better. The inn, then, was busy enough, but not extravagantly so.

Who ran such an establishment as this? Well, the landlord was an old, childless widower who was kindly enough in his own way, but who seemed to be so set upon by one illness or another that he barely came down to see to the inn, and instead preferred to remain in his bed and there arrange his farm lands (of which he had a few acres) and his trade. All this meant that the actual business of the inn fell mostly to the staff. Of these there were four in total: three serving maids and John Childermass, the ostler (who here, to the patrons and the staff, went by the name of Jack).

The principle serving maid was a woman called Nan, who was a few years older than Jack. She had been working at the King's Arms for many years and knew all of the regular patrons just as well as she knew her own brothers and sisters. Nan was a cheerful and friendly soul, and it was she who settled in Jack when he first arrived. Jack, it must be said, grew close to all the serving maids at the inn, but it was with Nan that he developed the greatest friendship, and you would often find the two of them talking and laughing together.

Now, Nan, as well as running the inn and tending the bar, also took upon herself a far older form of employment for some of the inn's patrons.4 This was a flourishing trade, particularly for those guests who were passing through the area onto somewhere else. Seeing Nan's success, and being of an enterprising mind, it was not long before Jack also set himself up as Nan's fellow-tradesmen, at which he met a like amount of success. Doubtless, of course, it was Nan who found the most customers, but Jack discovered that his services were the rarer, which allowed him to charge higher prices.5

Business (for the inn, and for Jack's other engagements) was well enough that Jack could be a little discerning in his custom, and often he would approach only those that he liked the look of, or who appeared as if they would be generous (with their money, as well as with other things).6 And thus the situation stood, with Jack tending to the horses, and to the bar, and to several of the patrons. It was not the most exciting of careers, but it was also not a bad one (and we must not discount the enjoyment to be had from a regular income, and regular food, and a regular roof above one's head).

This particular tale takes place when Jack had worked at the King's Arms for some two years or more. It was early March. The days were lengthening but it was still cold, and on this day the snow from the previous week had only just melted, leaving large, muddy puddles upon the roads and pools of cold water in the fields.

Our tale starts in the early evening. There were not so many patrons at the King's Arms on this day. A few of the local men had braved the cold and the wind so that they might huddle together in the bar and have their beer, but there were very few customers who had travelled from farther afield (for who would travel on a day such as this if they did not need to?)

In the bar the fire was kept burning steadily and all the locals were sat as close to it as they could do without burning their clothes. Jack and Nan also sat close to the fire, and as they had little to do (with there being so few customers) Jack was engaged in teaching Nan her letters.7 This they did with a tattered copy of the Bible,8 which Nan read from softly (so as not to disturb the company) with Jack reading over her shoulder and helping her when she came to difficulties.

It was during this quiet scene that the door to the bar opened, letting in a gust of cold air with it (which earned an angry glance from several of those beside the fire). No sooner had the door opened than through it stepped a gentleman in black who shut it quickly behind him.

Both Jack and Nan looked up from their reading, rather surprised to see anyone enter let alone a gentleman. But, surprise or no, a gentleman must be seen to, so Nan went over to discover what he might like while Jack pulled on his overcoat, swapped his shoes for his boots, and left by back door to take care of the man's horse.

Walking out into the courtyard of the inn (which is where the stables were), Jack was surprised to find it just as he had left it. There was no servant waiting out in the cold, and there were no horses or bags with him neither. Thinking that they might still be upon the road Jack walked around to the front of the inn, and here he was yet more surprised to find nothing there. That a gentleman might travel without a servant, Jack could understand, but to travel without a horse? Or without anything else? Jack even thought that perhaps the horse was as black as his master, and that left alone it must have wandered down the road someway, and was thus difficult to see in the half-light (for the sun was on its way to setting). But Jack walked up and down the road and saw nothing.

Frowning, Jack returned to the inn by way of the stables (which still refused to contain any new servants, bags, nor horses) and walked into the bar through the back door. Inside, Nan had seated the gentleman upon one of the settles and was standing talking to him. Frowning still, Jack removed his overcoat and his boots, slipped on his shoes, and leaned a shoulder against the doorframe so as to peer at their new customer.

He was not a gentleman that Jack had seen before, and from the way Nan was talking to him it seemed as if she didn't know him either. Yet where had he come from without a horse? He couldn't have walked, and in this cold, muddy weather, surely? Indeed, none of his clothes appeared to have any traces of mud on them at all. And if he had a hat or an overcoat, Jack hadn't seen them. Perhaps the gentleman had been dropped off by a carriage? A carriage which neither Jack nor Nan had heard?

The lack of mud aside, this gentleman's clothes were of an odd sort. They were expensive and cut in a fashionable way, that was true, but they were all of them plain and black save for his shirt and his stock (which were white). Even the gentleman's stockings were black, and Jack noted with alarm that he was wearing house shoes rather than boots (and in such muddy weather!) Perhaps the gentleman was in mourning? If so, it seemed almost as if his hair was in mourning too, for instead of a wig he wore his own hair, which was long and straight and as dark as the night.

At this point, Nan left the gentleman and walked over to Jack.

"I think he's one for you," said she to Jack. "I can't interest him in anything. Besides..." She tilted her head in the gentleman's direction. "He seems your type."

Jack, who had been busy thinking about mourning clothes and a lack of horses, was rather confused at this. "My type?"

"Ay," replied Nan, and she gave Jack a grin. "Rich. And pretty."

"Ah," said Jack. He smiled a wry smile. "Do you think he'll pay well, then?"

Nan sniggered. "You'll have to go see, won't you?"

And so Jack walked over to their new customer. Meanwhile, Nan wandered behind the bar and leant upon it to watch how he got on.

"Good evening, sir," said Jack as he came up to the gentleman. At this, the gentleman looked up and Jack saw that he was indeed pretty. His skin was pale and smooth, his nose long and straight, mouth delicate, and dark eyes far enough apart to produce a startling beauty. Jack gave the gentleman his greatest smile and asked, "What would be your pleasure tonight, sir? We have food, wine and beds for your comfort. We also have company, if you wish it."

The gentleman smiled in return, which only made his face the prettier. He enquired if the company offered meant Jack's own? And he did it in such an odd, ungentlemanlike accent9 that Jack was shocked into silence for a few moments.

Recovering himself, Jack replied, "Ay, sir. My company; if you want it."

The gentleman declared that he would like that very much. To which Jack smiled another great smile and said, "Very good, sir. Very good. I shall go see to the room, and I'll have some refreshment sent to you while you wait."

Whether Nan had heard the conversation or whether she could guess at the reason for Jack's triumphant swagger as he returned to the bar, Jack did not know, but as soon as he came up to her, Nan laughed and said, "I knew he was one of yours."

Jack laughed in return and patted the bartop. "See that he gets some warm wine, will you Nan? And can you set some water on to boil for me? I'm off to light the fire upstairs."

Nan turned to do so but before she could go Jack stopped her. He leaned closer and said, "Do you think this gentleman a little strange, Nan?"

She frowned at him. "Strange how?"

"Well," returned Jack, "his accent for one, and his clothes are all over black."

"Oh!" Nan turned her frown in the direction of the gentleman as if she had only just considered this.

"Nan," said Jack, "I went outside but the gentleman doesn't have a horse or a servant. He doesn't even have an overcoat!"

If anything, Nan's frown grew further. But then, as if she had just lit upon the answer, her face cleared and she turned to Jack with a laugh. "Why," said she, "gentlemen will have their ways! I am sure it is but the latest trend from London."

Jack went to retort that he didn't think gentlemen would give up their horses anytime soon, even if it were the fashion, but Nan had already headed off to fetch the wine and so Jack was left to ponder it alone as he took up a candle and went upstairs to see to the fire.

The room in which Jack and Nan preferred to ply their trade was upstairs and at the back of the inn. In fact, it was the farthest bedroom from the bar or the hall. (This was a necessity, as some customers had a habit of making noise; and while the patrons in the bar tended to know about and turn a blind-eye to Jack and Nan's business endeavours, they doubtless would not have liked to have had their conversation drowned out by a particular bout of enthusiasm.) The bedroom, like much of the inn, was an odd shape, with none of its corners square and even the ceiling bulging at an odd angle. Inside, as is common with inns, the room was filled with all sorts of pieces of furniture that did not appear to belong with each other, and this room, being rather small, was so crowded with them that one almost felt that one was in an auction house rather than a bedroom.

There was a large, oaken chair with armrests, which was so highly carved that it looked incredibly painful to sit on. Beside it were two stools: one plain and one with a green cushion. There was a small circular card-table; a large chest of drawers; and a dresser which, instead of holding china plates on its shelves, held many sad-looking, stuffed songbirds alongside a stuffed cat.10 The greatest part of the room, however, was taken up with a large bed (indeed, the bed was so large that it made the room feel smaller than it actually was). This bed was made of dark wood, with four carved posts and ancient curtains that may once have been red but now appeared a faded orange. The mattress, however, was new enough and the bedsheets were crisp and clean.

Other than the furniture, upon entering the room one would be met with the fireplace, which was a reasonable size and surrounded by plain, red tiles. And about the walls were pictures, including a cheap painting of a cow; a charcoal sketch of a bridge; and, oddly enough, the inn's old sign (this was above the fireplace, resting upon the mantelpiece). It was a large sign, and like the current one, featured a raven in flight upon a white background. Or, at least, one assumes that it was meant to be a raven, for despite ravens being plentiful in Yorkshire, it appears that the artist had never set eyes upon one and was instead far better acquainted with pigeons and ducks (for this raven bore something of a resemblance to both).

It was to the fireplace that Jack went. This was located at the foot of the bed and thankfully there was enough room to kneel in front of it (indeed, it was perhaps the only place in the room where one might kneel successfully). Here Jack set about making the fire, for the room had not been used for several days and was therefore rather cold. When he was done and the fire was at a state at which it could be left to its own business, Jack went down to the kitchen.

There in the kitchen, hanging above the fire, was a pot of water that Nan had left to boil; this was Jack's next object. He headed into the scullery briefly to fetch out a pitcher and a basin and some clean linen cloths. Then he set these down upon the kitchen table and, using two of the cloths, picked up the pot of boiling water and used it to fill the pitcher. This done, cloths, basin and pitcher of hot water were all carried upstairs to the back bedroom and were there deposited upon the chest of drawers (for Jack knew that his business endeavours could sometimes leave one feeling a little... sticky, and that having a means to clean up afterwards was very welcome). The room itself was still a little on the cold side, but it was now on its way to warming, and so Jack repaired downstairs to the bar, there to wait for the room to heat up fully.

As gentlemen tend not to appreciate the company of those lower in station to themselves unless they require some particular service, and as Jack was not yet in a position to provide any such service, he left his strange, black gentleman to his wine, and instead sat once more with Nan and the Bible beside the fire. Here they continued with their reading, and the locals continued with their talking and their drinking, until enough time had passed that the room upstairs was sure to have warmed sufficiently.

It was then, with a pat to Nan's elbow, that Jack rose from the fireside, took up his candle, and walked over to his gentleman.

"I believe the room will be ready now, sir, if you are," said Jack.

The gentleman raised his eyes to Jack's with a smile (and once again, Jack found himself startled by how very pretty the gentleman was). With a nod, the gentleman finished the last of his wine and asked Jack to lead the way.

This Jack did, taking the gentleman out of the bar to the great hall, then across this and up a twisting, wooden staircase. As he did so, Jack thought to make conversation and so learn more about his mysterious guest.

"The name's Jack," said Jack, "if you need it."

To this the gentleman said nothing, though this was not much of a surprise (for while some few gentleman liked to tell Jack their whole stories, even almost preferring to talk than partake in any other activity they might have paid for, by far the most of Jack's customers liked to conduct their transactions with a degree of anonymity).

"Have you travelled far today, sir?" asked Jack, attempting to sound as if such things as the gentleman's unusual arrival were commonplace. "For it must be wearying to travel on such a day without a horse."

To this, the gentleman replied that he had not travelled far at all.

Jack stopped on the stairs then, and turned to look at him. "You are local to these parts, sir?"

The gentleman graced him with a smile and replied that he was indeed local.

"Oh." Jack frowned at him, then turned and continued on his way. "You will forgive me, sir, but I might mention that neither Nan nor any of our local customers appear to know you."

To this the gentleman said that he had been out of these parts for many years, but added that the locals would have heard of him, even if they didn't know his face.

Jack was not sure about the truth of this, for he fancied that the gentleman looked too young to have been away for 'many years', but as Jack was not local himself and so was not familiar with the local gentry he did not press the issue. Besides, they had now reached the bedroom and there were more immediate things to be taken care of.

Opening the door to a welcome flood of warmth from the fire, Jack showed the gentleman inside the room, urging him to make himself comfortable. Then Jack shut the door behind them and walked across to light two candlesticks which stood upon the chest of drawers. Once done, he set his own candle upon the dresser.

What a cheery room it now was! Certainly, it still contained too much furniture and, certainly, the stuffed cat cast a rather odd shadow upon the wall, but how much nicer a room can seem when it contains a good fire and good company!

The gentleman had removed his coat (for it was now rather hot) exposing his slender frame, his neat, black waistcoat, and his spotless, white shirtsleeves. He hung his coat upon the back of the carved, wooden chair, then sat himself down upon it (not appearing to notice that it was a very uncomfortable chair indeed).

Jack stood beside the bed and spread his arms. "So, sir," said he, "what will you have? If you wish for small matters, that will be three crowns; if you wish to have full knowledge of me, that will be two pounds and you will find a jar of hog's fat in the dresser for the purpose; if, however, you wish to have me for the whole night, then that will be five pounds." He grinned. "Or five guineas for a gentleman."

The gentleman cast his eye over Jack, then reached into his breeches' pocket and pulled out his pocket book. From this he took out three crowns and carefully laid them, each one with a clink, upon the card table at his side. He looked back up to Jack and declared, after a moment, that he would like to kiss him.

"As you wish, sir," replied Jack with a wry smile. "If you please..." He gestured at the mattress, for he had no desire to work around the carved chair. "You will find it more comfortable if we conduct ourselves upon the bed."

The gentleman agreed with a nod of the head. He reached down to slip off his spotless house-shoes, then stood gracefully in his black stockings. Jack, meanwhile, removed his own shoes and his own coat, and climbed onto the mattress. He held out a hand to help the gentleman onto the bed, then he ushered the gentleman up to the head of the bed to lean against the wall and the pillows. Once the gentleman was settled, Jack gave another smile (for the gentleman was so very pretty) and leaned across to kiss him.

The gentleman's lips were soft and warm, and he and Jack kissed chastely for a while before the gentleman allowed his mouth to open so that Jack assumed he meant to undertake himself in the French way. To this Jack acquiesced easily, and he let his tongue slide past the gentleman's lips to meet the gentleman's own. The gentleman made a pleased noise in the back of his throat at this and delicate fingers smoothed over the curve of Jack's jaw then around to slide through the hair at the back of Jack's neck.

What a pleasant activity for a cold, March evening! The gentleman seemed quite happy for Jack to take the lead in his kisses, and Jack, for his part, was rather pleased to have this slender, beautiful man pinned, warm, and tongue slick, between himself and the wall. While the gentleman's first hand busied itself in Jack's hair, the second ran down Jack's arm and laced their fingers together. They continued in this manner for a while further. Then, of a sudden, the gentleman shifted: while still kissing Jack, the gentleman's hips turned, sliding out from underneath Jack; a knee raised itself beside Jack's thigh; and before Jack knew it the gentleman had rolled them so that he was straddling Jack's hips and Jack was himself now the one pressed up against the pillows and the wall.

And still the gentleman continued on with his kisses; indeed, he rather took control at this point, so that it was now the gentleman's tongue pressing into Jack's mouth and now the gentleman's lips pushing against Jack's lips, and all so sweetly and so masterfully that, before long, Jack's stockinged toes were curling against the blankets. Their hands were still joined, and the gentleman had relaxed his grip just enough that he could run his thumb across the smooth skin of Jack's wrist. At this, Jack broke the kiss so that he could let his head fall back and catch his breath.

The gentleman looked upon him, with his wide, dark eyes, and still running his thumb across Jack's wrist.

Jack stifled a groan. "Oh, sir," said Jack, pushing himself into a slightly more upright position (for he had slipped down the bed a little), "there's no doubt that you know your business. I have met few whose kisses are as sweet as yours."11

The gentleman smiled at this and leaned forward as if to kiss Jack again, but before he could Jack stalled him.

"Wait, sir." And Jack could not help from smiling in return (for their kisses had put him in a very pleasant frame of mind). He ran a hand down over the gentleman's waist. "For three crowns you may have me do more than just kiss you." (Indeed, perhaps 'pleasant' is too inadequate a word for what Jack was feeling at this moment, for he rather fancied doing all sorts of things with his new companion.) He ran his fingers along the bottom of the gentleman's waistcoat. "I may take you in hand," said Jack, "if you wish it. Or perhaps," said he with long grin, "you would like to see which other French acts I am a master of?"

The gentleman smirked as if he caught Jack's meaning very well indeed, but he didn't ask Jack to do any of those things. Instead, he took up Jack's hand and removed it from his waistcoat, placing it instead beside Jack's hips on the mattress. This done, the gentleman took his own hand (the one that had been teasing Jack's wrist) and placed it very firmly between Jack's thighs, to cup Jack through his breeches.

"Oh," started Jack, taking a breath, but he did not have the time to exclaim any further because the gentleman had leaned forward and was kissing him again.

Was it not strange that the gentleman rather wished to touch Jack than to have Jack touch him? Jack did not think it so, for he knew that many different customers liked many different things, and he knew that some found the touching of another man's parts to be just as thrilling as having a man touch their own. Customers of such inclinations were ones that Jack found to be particularly enjoyable, for obvious reasons, and also because once they had had their fill they were no work at all to please; indeed, most grew so hard in the performance of their actions that only the slightest of touches to their parts would send them into a very swift and eager end.

No doubt this gentleman would be swift and eager in his turn. His hands were long and thin, and now they pressed down over Jack and squeezed. Jack, for his part, had already found himself growing hard through their first kiss and now he grew harder still, with the feeling of those fingers becoming more and more pleasant as the gentleman kneaded him through his breeches. And still the gentleman kissed him and slipped his tongue into Jack's mouth, wet and slick. Jack kissed back rather more forcefully that he had done before, tongue and teeth, and he found that the gentleman retaliated in kind; so much so, in fact (and with those fingers still working him) that Jack felt himself rather dizzy throughout it all, and he soon had to break the kiss again to take several deep breaths.

The gentleman used this pause to his advantage. He unbuttoned Jack's breeches nimbly, pulled them open, and took hold of Jack's member as soon as it sprang free.

Jack groaned to feel skin against his flesh, and then groaned yet further when the gentleman's hand started moving, his long fingers lingering in all those places that Jack would linger on himself whenever he took a moment to enjoy his own company.

"Oh, sir..." Jack took up fistfuls of the blankets at his sides, feeling that he really would like to use his hands for something. "Are you sure you will not have me touch you?" And Jack looked down between the gentleman's thighs, but his breeches were too dark to tell if he were hard yet or no.

The gentleman replied in the negative, saying that this would do him just fine for now. And so Jack had to content himself with slipping further down the bed and opening up his mouth for another kiss when the gentleman leaned down to press their lips together again.

This continued for some time, but not perhaps for too long, for Jack knew that he could not last long, not when those fingers were smoothing across the head of his shaft like that, warm and precise. After some moments more the gentleman broke the kiss and removed his hands (at which Jack found himself making a small noise) and then climbed off of Jack's legs to sit beside him. By now Jack was breathing heavily, his cheeks pink, and he raised himself up on his elbows (for he had slipped so far down the bed that he was now lying upon the blankets).

The gentleman gave him an amused sort of a smile and another brief kiss, then leaned across to undo the buttons of Jack's waistcoat. When Jack sat up and went to help with this, the gentleman smiled further and requested that Jack take off all of his clothes, breeches and stockings and all.

Jack agreed (and rather heartily) and set to his task. The gentleman, meanwhile, climbed off of the bed and walked over to the carved chair. There, Jack had thought that the gentleman would remove his own clothes and drape them over the chair with his coat, but the gentleman did not do so. Instead, the gentleman reached into his breeches' pocket and pulled out his pocket book. From this, he took out five more crowns and set each of them, with a clink, next to the three already sitting on the card table.

Two pounds, then.

The gentleman, looking over at Jack, said that perhaps they might wish to take things a little further.

Jack, now seeing how the gentleman wanted to take his pleasure, found himself rather keen upon the idea (indeed, a set of sweet kisses and a fondling of his parts could make Jack keen upon the idea of any number of things).

"A good choice, sir," said Jack, standing up off the bed so as to take off his breeches and leave them upon the floor with his waistcoat, neckcloth and shirt. "A very good choice." He sat upon the edge of the bed and pulled off his stockings. "Will you want me beneath the bedcovers or on top of them?"

The gentleman looked upon him with his dark eyes for a long moment. On top of them, the gentleman decided finally, for, said he, he would like to see Jack fully.

Jack's breath caught a little as he heard this (and as he saw the expression on the gentleman's face while he said it). Jack wet his lips. "As I said, sir: you'll find a jar of hog's fat in the dresser for your purpose. In the cupboard upon the left-hand side."

This cupboard the gentleman opened, crouching down and pulling out a ceramic jar. Standing, he walked across the room and placed the jar carefully upon the plain stool, close to the fire; then he walked over to where Jack sat upon the bed. Here, he looked down at Jack, and what a contrast they made! Jack with his body laid bare, flushed skin and rough hair and dark member standing to attention; and the gentleman with his fine, pale face and his fine, pale hands, and his black waistcoat and white stock and white shirt as crisp as if it were morning and he had just put them on.

The gentleman bent his head and kissed Jack again, one of those fine hands tracing a path around the base of Jack's neck where it met Jack's shoulder. Jack shuddered at the touch and was quite happy to let the gentleman usher them both back onto the bed so that Jack was once more lying with his head upon the pillows. The gentleman's hand smoothed its way across Jack's shoulder and down to the top of Jack's arm, and the gentleman kissed at his mouth all the while. Then, seemingly done with this, the gentleman sat back a little and looked down at Jack with his dark eyes. After some consideration, the gentleman swept his own, black hair over one shoulder, which was presumably so that it would not get in his way when he leaned down to press a kiss to Jack's jaw, and then to his neck.

Jack jolted a little at this, and swallowed as the kisses moved down and traced a path across his throat. He put a hand to the back of the gentleman's head, feeling his soft hair beneath his fingertips.

"You have a very fine mouth," declared Jack. "And you..." Here, Jack faltered, because the gentleman had at that moment moved said mouth down Jack's chest and pressed his tongue to one of Jack's nipples. Jack gasped instead and swallowed heavily. The gentleman dragged his tongue across that nipple several times, then sat back and took up one of Jack's hands to press a delicate kiss to his fingertips.

Jack's skin flushed harder (as did his member, though that was, for the moment, neglected). "You know how to treat a man well, sir," said Jack, rather breathlessly. "That is for certain."

The gentleman gave a light laugh at this and Jack found himself laughing in return.

But if Jack thought that these kisses were to be but a brief, precursory measure before the gentleman set about the hog's fat and the sodomy, he was wrong. For the gentleman continued on with his kisses for a very long while. He kissed Jack's other hand and his other nipple, and his waist and his thighs and his knees and the tops of his feet. He ran his fingers along Jack's calves and kissed at the outside of his hips. He smoothed his thumbs across Jack's abdomen and kissed again at Jack's neck and his jaw. And such soft, sweet, floating kisses that Jack found himself gasping and rocking his hips up into the air despite the fact that no-one had touched his parts at all.

When done, finally, the gentleman moved back up to press a long, slow kiss to Jack's mouth, and Jack was only too happy to kiss him back in return. After a moment of this, the gentleman sat up and his dark lashes lowered as he looked his way down the length of Jack's body. Then he took up Jack's member in his long-fingered hand and clasped it in a firm, lingering stroke from base to tip.

For Jack, this sudden touching of his parts was such a surprise that he dropped his head back and groaned up at the bed's canopy. But then the stroke was complete and the hand was gone. Jack swallowed. His chest rose and fell. His member strained harder than before and darker: a full, deep red at the crown.

The bed shifted as the gentleman stood up once more, and Jack watched, rather dazedly, as the gentleman walked across to the fireplace, picked up the jar of hog's fat and returned with it to the bed.

Jack smiled very much when he realised the gentleman's purpose (for he had a great desire now to feel the gentleman further; that is to say: to feel the gentleman inside of him). And Jack forced himself up until he was sitting (though moving in any coordinated manner, he found, was not so easy as it had been before) so that he might hold out a hand as the gentleman sat down upon the side of the bed.

"Pass the jar here, sir," said Jack. "And if you can be so good as to undo your breeches, then I shall prepare you so that you may enter me with as much ease as you could wish for."12

The gentleman, however, declined to do any such thing. Instead he placed the jar upon the floor, and requested that Jack lie back upon the bed.

Jack complied, but he frowned as he did so. And when the gentleman, with careful hands, bent Jack's legs at the knee and pushed them wide apart so that Jack was fully exposed, some measure of Jack grew worried that that the gentleman meant to have him with no hog's fat at all (and if that was indeed what the gentleman was about, then Jack would have been quick to call an end to the evening then and there and so return to the bar, even if it meant forsaking his earnings). And yet... And yet some other measure of Jack wondered why the gentleman had picked up the hog's fat at all if he did not mean to use it, and, rather more urgently, this measure of Jack also felt all the desire which such a pose (his thighs spread wide and the gentleman looking fully upon him with a steady gaze) would bring about.

For Jack's sake, we must be glad that it was these latter thoughts which proved true. The gentleman, after running a hand across Jack's ankle, bent down to the floor and once again picked up the jar of hog's fat. Into this jar he dipped the fingers of one hand and scooped out an amount of the grease (and easily too, for the fat had grown warm and soft from the heat of the fire). Returning the jar to the floor when he had done so, the gentleman took the fat in both hands and rubbed it so that it smoothed itself, slick and shining, across his palms and over his long fingers.

Jack attempted to take a breath at this point, but it was not a very successful endeavour. The gentleman then climbed onto the bed fully, and he still had not yet opened his breeches, which suggested that the hog's fat on his hands had one destination only, and that said destination was Jack (which is a thought that Jack found he liked very much indeed).

In this surmise, Jack was correct. The gentleman, settling himself to kneel between Jack's legs, reached his hands down and curled them, slick, over the insides of Jack's thighs.

And oh! how pleasantly warm those hands were!

Jack found his breath at last and had to swallow around it, jerkily.

The hands slipped down, closer to Jack's parts, leaving shining smears of grease in their wake. Then they left Jack's thighs altogether and instead lit upon the soft skin of Jack's balls (that is to say: his testicles). Jack groaned at this, and quite loudly too, for the gentleman had begun to gently knead and massage those testicles with his long fingers; and who wouldn't groan to feel such a place grow warm and slick, the fat heavy upon sensitive skin, and to be given such attention besides?

The gentleman spent a goodly while set upon Jack's testicles thus, with every now and then one hand sneaking out to trace its long fingers back over the inside curve of Jack's thigh. And indeed, Jack's chest was rising and falling quite rapidly before long.

Yet, if Jack was breathing fast now, it was nothing to when the gentleman, still kneading Jack's testicles with the one hand, clasped Jack's shaft suddenly, tightly, in the other and slicked it from its base to its head in one clean stroke.

Oh! oh! such smooth and sweet and sharp a feeling!

Poor Jack's hips nearly rose clear off the bed. "Oh, sir!" cried Jack, though he did not find any more words than that.

The gentleman huffed a laugh, and if Jack had looked at him at that moment (which Jack did not) he would have found him sporting a rather tender smile.

It was now that the gentleman's other hand found Jack's shaft and both hands together worked it quickly in a twisting motion, which Jack appeared to like very much, given the way his fingers had clenched in the blankets at his sides. And indeed, while warm, slick hog's fat upon one's testicles may be one thing, warm, slick hog's fat upon one's full and thick member is quite another.

At this point, what little of Jack's thoughts he had the usage of wondered whether he might have seen things the wrong way round. For, on account of the gentleman's decisive manner, Jack had previously assumed that the gentleman had meant to sodomise him. And yet, now that Jack found that it was his own shaft which was the one being smeared with grease, it occurred to him that it was perhaps Jack who was intended to do the sodomising.

Jack, in his current state (gasping at the bed's canopy and biting his lips until they were full red), found that he was quite happy to undertake either role, for both had their own sets of pleasures, and indeed he would perhaps have wanted to undertake both roles simultaneously if such a thing had been possible. But once again Jack found his expectations turned upside down, for suddenly one of the gentleman's hands left Jack's shaft and instead travelled down to slick that sensitive part of Jack's between his balls and his anus.

This action (so slick!) and the gentleman's fingers rubbing firmly left Jack's hips rocking and his breath shuddering out of his chest. The gentleman continued this for a while, and soon Jack's toes began to curl. But then the gentleman stopped what he was doing, and leant over the side of the bed to once more retrieve the jar of hog's fat.

Jack watched him do so, and would have attempted to help but he found himself far too taken up with trying to breathe instead, his back arching now that the sensation had been removed and his legs shifting, a knee lolling to one side to spread his thighs yet further.

The gentleman was very quick in scooping out more of the fat and smoothing it across his hands (and across one hand in particular). Then he was back between Jack's legs, the least-slick hand clutching, warm, at Jack's raised knee, and the slicker hand reaching down so that the fingertips might touch Jack's anus, smearing the fat all around it.

How warm! How slick and sweet!

Jack felt certain now that the gentleman meant to sodomise him, and he was not at all displeased at the thought of it, imagining what the gentleman's member might feel like as it filled him, hot and deep and full. Indeed, Jack meant to say something to this effect to the gentleman himself, but at that moment the gentleman circled his fingers more firmly and then the tip of one finger pressed, very definitely, inside, and all Jack found he could say was "Uuh!" and nothing more.

The fingertip slid back out as soon as it had entered (for it had not entered very far at all) and once more set about running around the sensitive skin of Jack's anus and smearing the fat about it. Then, once done, it pushed inside a little way again. Things continued on in this vein for some time, with the gentleman's fingers (sometimes one; sometimes two of them) caressing Jack's anus, then the fingertips (sometimes one; sometimes two of them) pressing inside a small way, then sliding out and caressing, then pressing in again; slipping in and out so very gently and easily.

How very sweet a feeling this was! And when, sometimes, the movement of those fingertips was accompanied by a caress to Jack's balls or to the skin just behind them, or to his thighs, we surely cannot blame Jack for making a little moaning noise here and there, or for pressing his head back into the pillows and stretching out his neck.

Yet all things must eventually come to an end and this was no exception. The gentleman, tiring of this action, or perhaps seeing how Jack was now red in the face, swallowing and licking his lips, changed the movement of his fingers. Now, after caressing Jack's anus as before, the gentleman pressed his finger inside; and it was not only the fingertip this time but was instead the whole finger, sliding in long and slick and as far as it would go.

Oh! oh! But what long fingers the gentleman had! They had certainly looked long and elegant before, but seeing them is not quite the same as feeling one of them all the way inside.

Jack swallowed harder and muttered something, though it was little more than a jumble of syllables.

The gentleman thrust his finger a little, letting it slide out some way then pushing it back in. Such a slick slide! And for Jack this was pleasant enough, but then the gentleman crooked his finger and pressed upwards and rubbed.

Jack took a very deep breath.

Now, Jack was no stranger to this feeling, and yet he found there was something novel about it every time. At first it was a little faint, to be sure, yet when the rubbing continued, it felt... The pleasure began to grow so... Jack found it was not at all like the pleasure to be found when there was a touch to his shaft; why, there it was very pleasurable in a very specific area. And yet to be rubbed inside of himself; there it felt as if the pleasure had found its way to every part of his body, starting in that place inside of him and expanding out until it filled his hips and his chest and his limbs and his toes.

There is nothing quite like that feeling to ignite a desire, in one so inclined, to be sodomised by a man's piece. Surely the gentleman would not be much longer before he undid his breeches and set his cock to work. Breathing heavily Jack looked down between them, but the gentleman's body was angled as such that Jack could not see his hips.

Indeed, the gentleman had his back to the fire, so it was rather hard to see much of any of him in detail. Certainly his face was pale and his eyes were dark and his lips were parted, and certainly he still seemed to be fully clothed; but whether he were hard or no, Jack could not tell. Rather, the only parts of the gentleman that Jack could see clearly were those that had the light from the fire glance upon them: his shoulders in his crisp, white shirtsleeves, and the crown of his head with its shining, black hair. Beyond him the room was far more easy to discern, and Jack found himself gasping at the pitcher and basin upon the chest of drawers, at the stuffed birds (and the stuffed cat) upon the dresser, and at the rather duck-like and pigeon-like raven upon the old inn sign. But this did not last for long, for those fingers kept up their rubbing at that spot, and Jack found it far easier to cast his eyes heavenwards and gasp at the bed's canopy instead.

Every now and then the gentleman would remove his finger and replace it with another, and once he replaced it with two. And every now and then he would smooth his free hand across Jack's testicles or the inside of his thighs. But these actions were little in comparison to that constant stroking and caressing inside of Jack. At first the strokes had been small and shallow, but little by little they increased in pace and depth until the gentleman's fingers were sliding in and out freely, deep and slick and long. And yet so precise all the while! Not once did they falter from their course.

For Jack, this resulted in a momentous sensation. The pleasure that had filled his hips and his chest and his limbs and his toes kept expanding ever outwards. It grew and grew as if there were a pressure building inside of him; as if there were a spring in every muscle and every sinew and that it wound tighter and tighter, and feeling so good and so strong and so taut that Jack could hardly breathe around it.

He swallowed, shakily, and clutched his trembling fingers in the bedclothes at his sides. His hips were rocking and yet he did not know when they had starting doing so. And still the pleasure built, upwards and upwards and toes curling.

It was then that the gentleman, without warning, took his free hand and ran it in one slick stoke up and down the length of Jack's cock.

Jack shouted at the feel of it; his head thrown backwards, shoulders rising from the bed.

It wasn't quite enough to push Jack into the end of things but oh! how good it felt! How it took that pleasure and turned into something sweet and rounded and full!

"Oh!" cried Jack. Then he cried it again, for the gentleman had once more placed his free hand upon Jack's thigh, ignoring his shaft to instead swirl the pad of the thumb over the straining muscles. "Oh oh oh." (More of a whimper than a cry, truth be told.)

Then, once more, the gentleman repeated the action: a slick, smooth stroke, up Jack's shaft and then down and then away.

Lord in heaven! "Oh, sir! Oh, sir!" Jack threw a shaking hand up to clutch in his own hair as his back arched again.

And still the gentleman kept thrusting his fingers inside of Jack, long and warm and slick. And still the pressure kept building and building until Jack felt as if he could not contain any more: full and rounded and sweet and...

Oh! It was too much! Any more of this and Jack was certain that he would not last (and then the gentleman, who had still not opened his breeches, would be unhappy without a doubt). And so Jack summoned all of his will (for he needed it all) and reached down with his shaking hand to find and grasp the wrist of the gentleman's hand that was inside of him and so stop its movements.

The gentleman, who appeared not to have expected this, let out a shuddering, gasping breath, and Jack felt a tremor run through the gentleman's body.

Poor Jack was nearly undone. Throughout, the gentleman had seemed cool and collected, and yet now Jack found that he was not so collected after all. And indeed, when Jack looked up, though the gentleman's face was in darkness, there was yet more of a darkness there than would be expected, as if perhaps the gentleman's cheeks or his lips were flushed.

The gentleman swallowed thickly.

Jack could not help a groan from escaping him then; to know that the gentleman was thus affected by Jack's pleasure was a thing indeed, and Jack found that he had to take several steady breaths as his parts responded heartily at the thought of it.

"Sir," said Jack (and shakily so). He tried to look the gentleman in the eye, but found he could only look at the light of the fire as it gleamed upon the crown of his dark, shining hair. "Sir, if you continue so..." Here Jack had to catch his breath and swallow before continuing. "If you continue so, I will reach the end before you even begin, and I know you do not wish for that." Jack released the gentleman's hand and fell back against the pillows. "You must take out your parts and enter me now, sir. I can assure you I am quite ready; you have been more than diligent."

The gentleman stared at Jack with his dark eyes for a long while. Then he withdrew his hands from Jack's person, sat back and rested a wrist against his forehead as he took a long breath. (And, as he did so, and turned towards the light a little, Jack saw that his cheeks were indeed pinker than they had been before.)

After this, however, the gentleman did not undo his breeches as Jack had been expecting. Instead he climbed off of the bed, walked over to the chest of drawers, and poured out some of the warm water from the pitcher into the basin. In this he washed his hands, then dried them upon one of the linen cloths.

Jack watched this curiously, all the while himself feeling slick and open and sticky with grease from his hips to his thighs. (And he was more than keen, now, to feel the gentleman's piece inside of him.)

When the gentleman had finished washing his hands, he walked across to the carved chair and the card table. Here, Jack expected (and eagerly) that the gentleman would remove the rest of his clothes and leave them upon the back of the chair with his coat, but this the gentleman did not do either. Instead, the gentleman pulled out his pocket book from his breeches' pocket and opened it. Then he reached down, and with a great tinkling of coins, swept Jack's two pounds from the card table and back into the pocket book from whence they had come.

Jack found himself of a sudden all indignation as he saw his earnings so swept away (for while he may not have pleasured the gentleman's parts, it was not through want of trying, and he had spent more than enough time on this gentleman to earn such an amount of money).

But Jack's indignation did not last long, for as soon as the gentleman had swept away the coins, he reached back into his pocket book and produced five more. These he set down, one by one, upon the card table, and each one, Jack saw, was a shining, golden guinea.

Jack's breath caught.

The gentleman wished to have him for the whole night.

Turning to Jack, the gentleman declared that this should give them the time to conduct their business to the satisfaction of the both of them.

Jack could not help but moan. Who knew what the gentleman meant to do with so many hours ahead of them? Indeed, it seemed that the gentleman did not intend to sodomise him so soon but would rather see that Jack found his completion first. And how many times, thought Jack, will he have me finish before he sees fit to fuck me? This thought in particular had Jack moistening his dry lips and his member standing thicker and darker than it had done before.

The gentleman, returning the pocket book to his breeches' pocket, walked back over to the bed, placed one knee upon it and leant down to press his lips to Jack's own.

Oh sweet kiss! Oh the push of wet lips, the graze of teeth, and the slick slick drag of tongue! Written into this kiss was all that had occurred between them; their actions and desire lay thick upon it: all intensity and depth, and Jack's desperate breaths, and the gentleman's hands curling into Jack's hair.

When they were done and the gentleman pulled away, Jack's breath was heavy still, and indeed there was a rise and fall to the gentleman's chest also. Once more the gentleman reached down, picked up the jar of hog's fat and dipped his fingers into it. And how they shined! those fingers, when he returned the jar to the floor, and held out his hands to coat them with the grease, slick and clever and long.

The gentleman leaned forward then but didn't touch his hands to Jack's parts. Instead both hands were placed upon Jack's abdomen and were smoothed upwards, across skin and rough hair, smearing it slick all the way up to Jack's chest, the heels of the gentleman's palms sliding sweetly over Jack's nipples.

Poor Jack, who had not expected this treatment, choked out his next breath and his face grew red down to his neck. How coated he was! He could feel it as his chest rose and as his hips rocked upwards (though they had not been touched at all). Almost every part of him felt slick and covered and heavy.

The gentleman, after taking his fill of Jack's chest, moved his hands back down and slid them over Jack's hips to rise up his thighs. As Jack was busy attempting to breathe his way through this, the gentleman leaned back down to the jar, scooped up more of the hog's fat, and coated his hands once more.

Yet there were no more teasing touches. For now it seemed that the gentleman's hands knew their purpose exactly, and that this purpose was thus: for one hand to slide a finger through Jack's anus and deep into the heat of his body, there to rub upwards again, and for the other hand to clasp, ever so slick, around the hardness of Jack's shaft and so work him in a tight grip.

How must Jack have fared between such twin pleasures? That tense, building feeling had left for a while but now it returned, slowly for the first moments and then suddenly all at once it surged, swelling into an immensity of feeling. Oh oh. One of Jack's hands clenched so hard in the bedclothes that his knuckles turned white and the other of his hands clawed its way across his abdomen, blunt nails dragging across slick hair. And all through this Jack gasped and gasped and gasped.

He tried to look at the gentleman but his head would not stay still as he meant it to, and instead his gaze veered to the bed's canopy and then the gentleman's shining hair and then the raven in flight upon the inn's old sign. Shortly even this was too difficult and Jack was forced to turn his chin upwards, throat bared, as the back of his head tried to press its way down into the mattress.

So full and slick! The pleasure built and built from the inside out until the whole of Jack's skin pulsed with the feel of it; until every muscle was taut, tensing tensing waiting grasping for that peak he had yet to reach.

And then the gentleman stopped. He pulled his hands away from Jack's parts and instead smoothed his palms over the backs of Jack's thighs.

"Oh!" gasped Jack. The lack of sensation was almost tangible: a vast, cavernous thing. "Oh! oh!" he cried. There was a ringing in his ears, as if he could almost hear what he lacked. "Oh, sir! No, please!"

It seems that the gentleman took pity on Jack then, for his hands returned to their task. Two fingers now, sliding easily, slick and deep into Jack, and a fist caressing the base of Jack's shaft.

But the ringing in Jack's ears did not abate, and it grew with the full feeling inside of him as he found himself climbing once more: upwards, upwards, ever upwards. The fire crackled and the light of it glanced over the gentleman's shoulders, over his hair. The old inn sign shone; the shadows around the stuffed cat flickered. Oh, so sweet a feeling! Was there any sweeter upon this earth? Jack did not think there was. And indeed he might have been right, for then the hand upon Jack's shaft stroked upwards to focus on the dark, round head of it.

Jack's mouth worked, though he emitted only the faintest of croaks. His back was arching again, hips rising off of the mattress, and it seems that the gentleman was required to do something about this, for his hand left Jack's shaft and instead pressed Jack's hip slickly down against the bed. His fingers inside of Jack stilled also.

Oh cruel absence of touch! The ringing in Jack's ears became a cacophony. He took a gargantuan breath, both of his own hands now clenching in the sheets at his sides. "Ah! ah!" he cried. "No!"

And so, once more, the gentleman began to move the fingers that were inside Jack. They pressed upwards forcefully as they thrust in and out, rubbing constantly at that sweet place.

Jack's body thrummed with the feeling of it, and the cacophony grew. It was almost as if he could hear the pleasure that was building inside of him; it sounded like every sound at once: like the ringing of bells, like the rushing of water, like the singing of birds. Jack could barely breathe, could barely stay still; he was stretched so taut, so close to that peak of ecstasy that he... he...

The gentleman's fingers stilled once more, and Jack gasped out the foulest words that he knew. He glared at the gentleman, whose lips (which were perhaps rather darker than they had been before) were curled into a smile. And the fire, which seemed now almost brighter than it had ever been, shone so strongly in the gentleman's sleek, dark hair that it looked almost as if he were wearing a circlet of gold.

"Sir!" groaned Jack, as petulantly as he was able.

The gentleman's eyes glinted. His hair glinted. "You wish to spend yourself, perhaps?" the gentleman asked (with a rather breathless tone to his voice).

Jack moaned (a pitiful thing). "Yes!" he cried. "Christ, I..."

"Then do so," returned the gentleman, his long smile growing, and his fingers inside Jack beginning to thrust once more. "I would have you spend yourself, John Childermass."

"Oh oh," gasped Jack as he began to feel the pleasure build once more. He stared blearily, unseeing, at the gentleman: at his smile and his dark eyes and his dark hair with its circlet of gold. And behind the gentleman the fire flickered so much that the old inn sign appeared to dance in it, as if the raven painted upon it were a real thing and had shivered its wings. But Jack's gaze rolled away as his head pressed back into the pillows.

The gentleman's thrusts inside of Jack were hard and fast now; they were short too, thrusting only that little amount that was needed to rub at that place inside of him, forcefully, forcefully.

Jack's breath shuddered out of him, gasping, croaking. His hands were white as white, clenching hard in the blankets, tendons straining. And still the pleasure built, thrumming, pulsing, pushing out into the farthest parts of him; all taut; everything taut. The cacophony in Jack's ears was a roar now, a rising wave of noise: bells ringing, birds singing, a chorus upon the cusp of dawn. Jack's back arched, shoulders rising, toes curling.

The gentleman's other hand then left Jack's hip and the fingers curled themselves around Jack's shaft once more, tightly tightly. They stroked up, once, then down, and then fell into a fast, twisting rhythm.

Oh sweet sweet...! The pleasure that had been knotting itself in Jack's limbs now flared and blossomed outwards. So strong a feeling! So rounded! So full and hot and _good_! Poor Jack's hips were rocking with abandon (though he himself did not know it). His limbs clenched, building building, his teeth bared themselves, so sweet so full so... ah! Such long, deep fingers! He gasped at the bed's canopy. What a roaring, joyful cacophony of birdsong inside of him! And Jack... couldn't... he gasped... he... he...

There was a surge of ecstasy as Jack spent himself in thick, white lines over his already-shining chest, and the gentleman stroked him and thrust inside of him throughout it all.

It was as if everything happened at once. The pleasure in Jack burst into life; it rushed through him; it spread wings and took to the air. And indeed it was not the only thing that did so. For there was birdsong, Jack could hear birdsong, and it came from the birds upon the dresser which were stuffed no longer. They hopped from their perches and took to the air in a rush of feathers; the stuffed cat twitched its tail and lept from shelf to shelf, attempting to swipe at them with its paws; and from the old inn sign the raven flapped its wings then flew out into the throng where it circled the room before coming to land upon the gentleman's shoulder.

For Jack, this last part happened in an increasing haze of whiteness. He had spent himself too forcefully, too hard. It was as if the pleasure had swept up his consciousness and carried it away. And Jack, with a vague feeling as if he were falling from a great height, lost himself to blankness.

Yet Jack was not alone in his swooning, for the stuffed birds had followed him also. They flew around and around Jack, their song fuelling the warmth of the pleasure that he could still feel inside of him. As Jack watched, the birds came together and they grew in number; like a great flock of starlings they swooped through the air, twisting across an empty, grey sky.

Jack did not know where he was. It was cold and the wind blew; there was snow upon the ground. Perhaps he was lost upon the moor? For that is what it looked like. In the distance there were hills and an old hawthorn tree, twisted and bare. And yet, as the birds curled through the sky and flew past it the tree was gone and in its place was a grand house. Beside Jack there flowed a river, rushing and chasing over itself. A short way along the bank there was a bridge.

But when Jack turned back to the house, he instead found he was in a very handsome-looking square surrounded by fine townhouses. It was a busy place. People were talking. There was shattered glass at Jack's feet. The birds swept past him again and Jack couldn't see but he could hear carriages and shouts and a great commotion. This was odd, for when he looked up he found himself alone and in the silent presence of a tall, grey cathedral. It looked down upon Jack as if it wished him to do something, though Jack did not know what this could be. And so he turned away and was confronted with the twisted hawthorn tree again.

The birds roiled and tumbled through the sky, like black ink seeping through water, and singing all the while. Then, of a sudden, they all turned as one and, swooping down, landed upon the bare branches of the tree. Indeed, there were so many chattering birds that the branches were almost bent double by them. Yet the birds seemed to belong there; as if they and the tree were two parts of the same whole; as if together they meant something; as if Jack could work out what this was if only he knew how.

But Jack did not know how.

The singing of the birds grew louder. It grew louder and louder and more present and more real in a way in which the tree did not seem real. Soon it grew so loud that there was nothing else in the whole world save for Jack and the birdsong and a pillow beneath his head.

Taking a deep breath, Jack pressed his face further into the pillow. He shrugged his shoulders and found himself covered with a warm blanket. There was a light coming from somewhere, and yet the birdsong continued.

Jack opened his eyes.

He was in a bed. In fact, it was the same bed he'd lain upon earlier, with its carved posts and faded orange curtains, which were now closed. Light filtered through a chink in the curtains and with its aid Jack could tell that he was alone upon the mattress. The birdsong seemed louder than ever. Jack's heart beat fast in his chest, though he knew not why. Scrambling out from beneath the blankets, he tugged open the bed-curtains on all sides.

Behind those curtains lay the room that Jack knew well. There was the chest of drawers, and the fireplace, and the old inn sign. There were the candlesticks, and the carved chair, and the dresser. And there upon the dresser were the stuffed cat and the stuffed birds, all as still and as silent as they should be. Instead, the birdsong (which was still present) sounded from behind the shutters of the room's only window, and the light in the room came from behind the shutters also (for the candles and the fire had long since burned down). The explanation for this was simple: it was morning.

Jack pressed his palm to his forehead and breathed in. Then he looked about himself some more. That he was alone in the room was easy to tell (it was, after all, not a big one). Where the gentleman had gone, Jack did not know. On the chest of drawers beside the basin of water more of the linen cloths had been used, suggesting that the gentleman had washed his hands again before he had left.

Thinking to do the same (or rather to wash down his whole body, for Jack, who was still naked, felt all over sticky) he set his feet upon the floor. And as he did so his eye was caught by the card table.

On that table there was no trace of the five guineas that Jack had seen the gentleman lay out the night before. No indeed; on the card table there were no coins at all. Instead, in their place, lay the gentleman's pocket book.

Jack took a sharp breath.

He stared at the pocket book. After a moment, he went and wiped the grease from his hands with one of the linen cloths, then he walked over to the card table so that he might inspect the pocket book more closely. What a rich and well-made pocket book it was! and embroidered all over so that it looked as if it were covered with ivy. To sell that alone would make a pretty penny.13 And yet the pocket book was not empty. When Jack picked it up and opened it, he found inside it the two pounds in crowns, the five golden guineas, and alongside those were five slips of paper. Frowning, Jack pulled out the papers and opened them up to discover that they were banknotes, and each one made out to the sum of ten pounds.

This was so unexpected and so much of a shock that Jack found himself sitting down in the carved wooden chair, barely considering how uncomfortable it was, or how the undersides of his thighs had now smeared grease upon it.

With wide eyes, Jack looked inside the pocket book again.

"Sweet Lord in Heaven," he said. And he laughed.

It took Jack some time to get over his shock, but perhaps not too long. It was, after all, rather cold in the room now that the fire had gone out, and Jack was still naked. So Jack picked himself up and used the last of the (now cold) water in the pitcher to wash himself down and then wash down the carved chair also. Then Jack put on his clothes (as a semblance of modesty that would allow him to return to his own room and there find a clean shirt) and he slipped his new pocket book into his breeches' pocket.

When Jack had made the brief trip to his own room to complete his toilet to his satisfaction, he returned to the room he had shared with the gentleman so that he might clean it (as both he and Nan preferred to conduct their business without being confronted by the evidence of previous exertions). First he stripped the bed of its bed clothes; these he swept up into an armful and carried them down to the scullery. And as he was on his way there and passing through the bar, he came across Nan who was just then sweeping the barroom floor.

"How now, Jack!" cried she, with a wide smile. "I've not known you to lie abed this late before! If your gentleman has kept you busy this morning, I hope he has paid you for your trouble."

Jack dropped the sheets onto the floor and gave Nan a wry smile. "Why," said he, folding his arms and leaning against the bar, "I've not seen my gentleman for hours. He paid for the whole night and yet when I woke he was gone. Did you not see him pass this way before me, Nan?"

"No." Nan shrugged. "But that is not so strange."14

"I suppose not," said Jack. "And yet..." Jack ran a hand over his mouth. "The gentleman left me his whole pocket book."

"Lord!" Nan's eyes opened wide. "How much was in it?"

Jack found he could not stop himself from laughing again as he told her: "Nigh on sixty pounds!"

Poor Nan looked as if she might fall down in a swoon. "Oh, Jack," said she, "I am full sore now that the gentleman choose you over myself." And she swore again. "Though I bet he worked you hard for your money."

Jack shook his head. "I barely touched him. He paid for as much as he could get (I saw him lay down five guineas long before he left the pocket book), yet he wished only to use me with his hands."

"Oh, Jack!" Nan had turned red in the face. She walked over with a laugh, picked up Jack's bundle of sheets and deposited them in his arms. "You had better go now for I am all over jealous, and I do not know what I might do!"

Jack turned to go but found himself confronted by an odd thought. "Nan," said he, turning to her, "did you think this gentleman rather strange when he arrived last night?"

"No, I do not think so," replied Nan. "Why?"

Jack shook his head. "I do not know," said he. "I feel certain that there was something strange about him, though now I cannot think what it was."

"Well," said Nan, "all gentlemen are strange in their own ways."

Jack went to agree, then frowned as he found himself confronted by an even odder thought. "Do you know," said he, "that I cannot remember what this gentleman looked like? I can remember what we did, certainly, but I find I cannot remember his face."

"Why, he was a very pretty gentleman," returned Nan. "Very pretty."

"Pretty how?" asked Jack.

Nan opened her mouth as if she had a good deal to say on that subject, but then she frowned and shut it again. She shook her head as if to clear it. "Oh, Jack," said she. "There aren't so many ways to look pretty. I'm sure he was handsome in the normal way."

Jack shrugged as if to say that, normal or no, he could not see it.

Nan tutted and laughed. "Look at you frowning so! One would think you'd spent your wits upon those sheets!"

Jack laughed in return, and with another wry grin at Nan he hefted his bundle in his arms and headed off on his way.

The next few days were strange ones for Jack. At first he was all high-spirits (for an enjoyable night time encounter followed by a great deal of money will do that to a person), yet this lasted for only a day or two. After that Jack began to feel slow, somehow: dull and listless, as if he were ill, though Jack was not ill in any part of himself he could tell. It almost felt as though the inn, the whole place, had grown heavy and was weighing itself down upon Jack's back in a way so wearisome that he could hardly bear it.

There was no reason for this change, as everything continued on as it should do: the King's Arms was the same; the serving maids were the same; the customers were the same. It was highly frustrating to Jack that he did not know why he had grown so low.

And so Jack, battling his weariness and his frustration, did what he was always wont to do in uncertain situations: he asked his cards for an answer.15 This he did several times, sitting at one of the tables in the bar one morning, laying out his cards, turning them over and frowning at them, then picking them back up and repeating the action.

Nan, who was meant to be collecting the beer mugs for washing (though she was actually doing no such thing), had been standing beside the bar and watching Jack do this for some while. It was when Jack had just turned over his cards for the fifth or sixth time and was sat looking at them that Nan cried out "Lord! Jack! Whatever do you see in those cards to make you frown so?"

Jack frowned at the cards some more then lifted his head to look at Nan (without his frown decreasing in the slightest). "I am leaving," said he in a wondering tone.

Nan made a shocked noise. "Leaving, Jack?"

"Ay." Jack looked back down to his cards once more. "My time is done here at the King's Arms. And," said he, almost to himself, "when I think upon it, I know it in myself to be true."

Nan did not seem at all pleased by this news. "But where would you go, Jack?"

Jack shrugged. "The cards will not say." He looked up at Nan, rather unhappily. "Perhaps I should head to York and try out my fortune there. I had meant to do so, once upon a time."

"Why," said Nan, "I know what it is!" And she appeared to make an attempt at a smile. "You wish to go to the city," said she. "Now you have all that money in your pocket you think you can do better business in town than at a poor roadside inn, and you'd be right."

Jack regarded her silently.

"If I were you..." And Nan laughed, a little forcedly. "If I were you, I would take my money and buy a fancy set of clothes. Then," said she, "you may travel to London or to Bath or to one of those fashionable places and there find some rich gentlewoman to keep you in full luxury so that she might have the use of you all to herself."

Jack seemed to find this idea an amusing one. He gave a quiet snort. "Nan," said he, "I do not think any amount of fancy clothes would be able to charm a fine lady into desiring me."

"I do not see why not," retorted Nan. "You do not lack for customers here."

Jack laughed. "But there is a large difference between a gentleman passing through an inn on his travels and a rich lady who could have the pick of any man she chooses."

"Well," said Nan, now beginning to collect up the empty beer mugs as she was meant to, "if I were you I should still try it before I gave up on the idea. You do, after all, have some money now to fall back on if things go awry."

Jack smiled at her. "Well then," said he, "maybe I shall."16

Yet Jack did not leave the King's Arms on an instant. Instead he spent his time considering where it would be best for him to go and what he should do when he got there. (He did not have answers to either of those questions, and yet he felt so listless and tired at the inn that he knew he would have to discover them soon.)

It was on the afternoon of the next day, when Nan was tending the bar and Jack was sitting beside the fire with a thoughtful look upon his face, that a carriage could be heard turning in through the inn's gate and entering the courtyard. This was Jack's domain and so, with a huff, he stood, put on his overcoat (his boots he was already wearing) and went out into the yard to see to their new guest.

What met him there was a very handsome-looking carriage, driven by a coachman in an expensive-looking livery. The King's Arms did not normally receive customers this fine, so Jack found himself wondering greatly who they might be as he stepped up to the carriage to open the door (and, indeed, this sense of wonder was so strong that Jack forgot about his weariness for a moment, which was a blessed thing).

But before Jack could reach the door handle, the coachman looked down from his box and said, "You needn't do that, lad. There's no-one inside."

Jack frowned up at the coachman, who gave him a friendly smile in return. At this, Jack decided to forgo his frown in favour of a laugh. "What now?" said he to the coachman. "Is it normally your pleasure to take an empty carriage for a ride? Does it require the exercise?"

"Nay, lad," said the coachman. "I'm bringing it back from the upholsterer. My master has just paid a good deal to have it refitted."

"Ah," said Jack. He stepped up to the carriage and peered in through the window to see that it did indeed look very new and fine inside. But Jack was aware that he had duties to perform and that those duties did not involve admiring handsomely-turned-out carriages. So he instead headed over to the two horses that pulled the carriage and, as the coachman climbed down into the yard, started to unhitch them.

The coachman, taking off his hat, reached into his pocket and tipped Jack sixpence (for which Jack thanked him) then, seemingly in no rush to go about his business, he stood and watched Jack work.

"Well now," said the coachman after a moment. "You're a welcome sight to me, lad, and no mistake."

Jack gave a wry smile as he led the first horse over into the stables. "There's not many that will say that to me," said he.

"Well, to me you are welcome," replied the coachman. "For, our stablehand went off to join the army some four weeks ago and since that time I have been left to tend to all the horses myself."

Jack walked back over to the coach and its remaining horse. He gave the coachman an enquiring look. "Four weeks without a stablehand? Will your master not let you hire a new one?" He laughed. "I would call him a miser for that, yet I know of no miser who would lay out so much money on upholstery."

The coachman laughed also. "He's not a miser, no. But he insists on hiring the new stablehand himself (for he does not trust our butler to do it to his liking), and yet he will not make the time to do it. He will not even let us put out an advert for one until he has considered it, but even that he does not care to do."

"I am sorry for it," returned Jack, leading out the other horse.

"Ah, well." The coachman stepped over and patted the horse on the neck. "I grumble only because I am hungry. It's nothing that a pint of beer and a pie won't fix. Once I have eaten and am on my way, I am sure I shall be more content." With a final pat to the horse he turned to head off into the bar.

Yet before the coachman could go, Jack stayed him with a question: "What is he like to work for, your master?"

The coachman shrugged, turning back to Jack. "Not so bad, in truth. He pays well and he isn't harsh. Certainly, he has his odd ways, but I've worked for worse masters in my time." Here, the coachman stopped and regarded Jack with the beginnings of a smile. "Why do you ask, lad?"

Jack stroked the horse's nose. "To be honest with you," said he, "I am growing tired of working at an inn, and thought that perhaps to work for a master who could afford a handsome coach, such as yours, would be a pleasant thing." He looked to the coachman. "You say your master does not wish to take the time to hire a stablehand. Well, he will have to take the time if a stablehand arrives on his doorstep." Jack gave the coachman a sly grin. "Why, and it will be quicker and all the more convenient for him too, for he won't need to bother with adverts at all and will only have to interview one man."

The coachman gave a broad smile in return. "You would do it, then, lad? You would wish to come and work with us?"

"If you will be kind enough as to take me with you when you go," said Jack. "I do not see that I have anything to lose: I was planning to leave the King's Arms anyway, and if your master does not like the look of me (though I don't see why he should not) then I can simply make my way to York as I had first thought."

By now, the coachman was wearing a great, wide grin. "That would be good of you. That would be very good of you." He paused. "What's your name, lad?"

"John Childermass," said Jack. "The folks here call me Jack."

"Well then, Jack Childermass," said the coachman, grinning still. "We'd be glad to have you."

Jack laughed and thanked the coachman, who finally turned towards the bar. But just as he was about to step through the door, Jack remembered that there was one particular he had not troubled to find out.

"Where does your master live?" called out Jack. "Is it nearby?"

"It's not too far," returned the coachman. "But perhaps not so close that you would have heard of it: we're at Hurtfew Abbey; my master is a gentleman named Norrell." And with that he opened the door to the bar and went inside.

Jack had begun to feel lighter from the moment he had decided to accompany the coachman and find employment with his master. Perhaps it was the novelty of the whole thing, but there was no longer that empty, listless feeling weighing down Jack's limbs. Indeed, he felt almost cheerful, and fancied that a new job and a new master could be a very fine thing.

When Jack had finished with the horses it was almost with a song on his lips that he returned inside (and Jack was rarely one for singing). He closed the door behind him, then took off his overcoat and hung it up.

"My!" cried Nan, who was at the bar. "Are you humming, Jack? I never thought I'd hear the like." She was smiling. "I am full glad to see you cheerful again though."

"Ay," replied Jack, leaning an elbow upon the bar and grinning. "Fortune has been kind to me." He nodded his head in the direction of the coachman (who was sat at one of the tables across the room and eating his dinner). "That good man yonder has agreed to take me with him today to see his master, who is just this moment looking to employ a new stablehand."

Yet Nan did not appear to think this so fortunate, for the smile fell from her face. "Oh," said she. "And you mean to take up this employment, then, Jack?"

"Ay; I do," said Jack, somewhat uncertainly. Indeed, he had felt so bright that he had quite forgotten that others might not like the news so well. "I had thought that it might do me well to serve a rich master in a big house." He stood up and rubbed at his shoulder.

Nan gave out a laugh (which was perhaps not quite so cheerful as she had meant it to be). "And I'm sure you'll get on well there, Jack," said she, patting him on the arm. "But if you find it doesn't suit, then you must go to Bath and find a rich patroness, as I have told you before."

Jack smiled in return (or at least his mouth turned up at the corners). "I will be sure to," said he. And with this he left the bar and headed up to his small room, there to pack his belongings and ready himself to leave.

Packing did not take very long, for Jack did not own many possessions; those few that he did have were bundled up and placed into a worn-looking knapsack. What took far longer was taking leave of the landlord, who was ill and in his bed (as always), this time due to an aching brought on by the chill in the weather. When the landlord had been apprised of the situation Jack asked the landlord to write him a reference, which the landlord did, slowly, upon a piece of paper. Once this was done Jack was quite surprised to find the landlord take up his hand and pat it in a fond sort of manner. Indeed, though Jack and the landlord had never talked over-much, the landlord now wished him well with something close to kindness.

All this meant that by the time Jack had returned to the bar, the coachman had nearly finished his meal and was almost ready to be on his way. But this was not all, for it seems that in Jack's absence quite a crowd had gathered. Why, there was Nan and there were the other serving maids, and there were the local customers who had been drinking in the bar that day (and indeed, there were some customers who had not been in the bar that day at all, but it seems as if some enterprising person had run off to the village to tell them about Jack's going away) and all of them were there waiting for Jack to come down.

Now there were very many goodbyes to be said, and nigh on all present wished Jack well so this took some time to accomplish. When this was done the coachman was by then ready to leave, and so Jack put on his overcoat and his hat (taking his knapsack also) and went out to hitch up the horses. Yet he was not alone in this undertaking, for it seems as if the whole crowd followed him out into the courtyard to see him work at his final task, the coachman included.

Once the horses were hitched and all was ready (which was no quick business, for people kept stopping Jack to talk to him) the coachman climbed up onto the coach and Jack was about to join him. Yet Jack could not get far because, before he could climb aboard, he found himself swept into a tight hug.

"We'll miss you, our Jack," said Nan, sniffling from beside Jack's shoulder (for it was she who had hugged him). "You take care of yourself."

"I shall," said Jack, patting her on the back. "I shall. And you take care too; don't you let this drunken rabble order you around." (This earned a laugh from a number of those present.)

Nan released him and stepped back, wiping at her eyes with her hands. "You must write to us; you hear?" said she. "You must write to us and let us know how you get on." She attempted a smile. "And I will be able to read your letters. I shall read them out for everybody."

Jack smiled in return. "And you must keep up with your lessons, Nan," said he, as he climbed up onto the coach beside the coachman. "You must ask Mr Clevedon to help you with your reading." (This was the name of the local clergyman.)

Nan nodded.

"But I shall not write much," continued Jack. "For I shall do better than that: I shall come back and visit."

"You will, Jack?" asked Nan.

"Ay," said Jack. "Regularly."17

And with that, the coachman tipped his hat to the company and drove the coach out of the courtyard and onto the road, where the sound of many farewells followed them.

Yet, while Jack felt a certain sadness at leaving the King's Arms and its people behind, it was far surpassed by the bright and buoyant feeling he had at the thought of going to work somewhere new. Indeed, it seemed almost to him that the Yorkshire countryside they travelled through was not the grey, wet thing that it actually was on that day, but was instead a beautiful, fresh place, bursting with the thought of an upcoming spring.

Thus ends this tale. Or should it? Should we not, before we go, ask whether Jack ever thought of his final customer again? Of the strange gentleman who left Jack with a good deal of money? Well, perhaps we should not, for the truth is that Jack did not really think of him at all; but then, neither did Jack think of any of his former customers much.

And yet... And yet there were times when Jack (or John Childermass, as we should now call him), having risen up through Mr Norrell's household, found himself casting his eye across some book or other in Mr Norrell's library.18 As he did so it chanced, sometimes, that he would find in one of these books an old woodcut, perhaps, or an illustration, of a pale, handsome gentleman with long, dark hair. And just for a moment John Childermass would find himself thinking: I know this man! I have met him before somewhere; I am sure of it!

But these thoughts would last only for a second or two, for then John Childermass would see that these pictures were not of anyone he had met before, but were instead of the Raven King, who had not been in England for centuries. And John Childermass would feel ever so foolish in himself for having made such a mistake.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1\. If you were to ask John Childermass himself, he would not be able to tell you exactly how old he was at the time. This is not because he cannot remember this event so clearly, but rather that a certain amount of obscurity shrouds his birth, which has left him unaware of his exact age on any given year. It is not a matter that troubles him greatly. (Go back)

2\. If you were to ask John Childermass about _this_ , he would smile and not tell you anything at all. (Go back)

3\. Unfortunately, no-one knows who any of the coats of arms belong to. One crest contains a ship upon a blue sea, and another is supported by two pigs in red hats. Presumably they come from ancient families that have long since died-out or moved away. (Go back)

4\. If you require an explanation as to what this employment was, perhaps it is best that you stop reading this tale now, as I dare-say you will not enjoy what comes next. (Go back)

5\. Once again, Jack found that it was those men passing through on their travels who provided the most trade. There was also, one on occasion, a woman who had been travelling with her sister-in-law; and she had been very keen to have Jack stay for the whole night. But for the most part Jack's custom was of the male variety, as it is not so often that you find women travelling by themselves (and women who travel with their male relatives tend to act as they ought to, rather than risk their companions discovering them in a tangle with the ostler). (Go back)

6\. Is it surprising that Jack had the liberty to do so? One might have thought that Jack would have found it difficult to drum up trade. After all, he is not, nor has he ever been, a handsome man. Yet Jack found this was not a problem. For, the customers of the sort that Jack attracted tended to appreciate a willing body the most of all, and cared very little for anything else. (Go back)

7\. Jack had been lucky enough to learn to read and write some years before, and Nan was particularly keen to follow him. "For," said Nan, "who knows what I might do when I have my letters? I might write to my sister in York. Or I might read all the news in the newspapers, and so be thought very knowledgable. Or I might write my memoirs into a play, which I shall have performed on the London stage so that some rich gentleman may see it and swoon at my feet (for my play will contain plenty to swoon over) and then he shall pay me very much money to write another one." It was this last plan that Nan liked to recite the most, and often with a loud, merry laugh to accompany it. (Go back)

8\. No-one knew where this Bible came from. It did not belong to Jack nor to Nan, and the landlord hardly seemed a pious sort. Yet, have you found an inn that did not have a copy of the Bible stashed in some corner or another? Presumably it was left by a patron (although some of the locals preferred to say that it came from the landlord's late wife who, they said, was so devout and so frustrated with her husband's lack of a similar devotion, that she up and died at the age of nine and twenty). (Go back)

9\. Jack had never heard anyone with a similar accent before. It sounded like the gentleman came from further north (Newcastle, perhaps?) and yet there was an odd note to it that Jack couldn't place (French, almost?) Regardless, he did not sound like he was a gentleman at all, and yet his appearance and his fine clothes spoke to the contrary. He must have come into a lot of money very recently, thought Jack, and he is trying without much success to make his speech fit his new status. Perhaps he has come into his money through business or trade? This made Jack rather hopeful as to his prospects that night, however; for you can get many fine-looking gentleman who speak as gracefully as the King and yet don't have a penny in their pocket (and people in Jack's trade, by which I mean his nightly trade, tend not to sell their services on credit). (Go back)

10\. According to the inn's oldest patrons, the cat had been resident at the inn some sixty years before and had gone by the name of White Harry (which was odd, considering that the cat was black from head to toe). The stuffed birds, said they, were far older than White Harry and had been used to decorate the bar, where they confused the poor cat to no end. Many's the time the cat had been found staring at the frozen birds and flicking his tail, and one of the birds even found its way off its perch (in the cat's maw no doubt) and was discovered to have been deposited at the bottom of the staircase which led to the then-landlady's rooms. This behaviour, while amusing at first, soon grew tiresome when it was repeated regularly and so the birds were locked away in the back bedroom out of Harry's reach. Yet, when the cat finally died (as cats, and all things, are wont to do), it had seemed meet to leave him with those he loved most; and so he was stuffed and placed in the back-bedroom too. This is what the inn's oldest patrons said. Although if you asked one of the other patrons (who was only three and fifty and of a rather contrary nature) he would tell you that he saw the current landlord buy the stuffed cat from the back of a cart only twenty years ago. (Go back)

11\. This was no empty compliment. In his time, Jack had found that compliments and sweet words did little to persuade men to pay him any more money than they had set their mind upon. Besides which, Jack was not the sort of person to enjoy fawning over another's inflated pride, no matter how useful it might prove to be (which is perhaps why his attempts at compliments in the past had not succeeded in their intended effect). No, in this exchange we should not assume Jack's words to be insignificant, airy things but should instead take them for the genuine, breathless utterance of surprise that they were. (Go back)

12\. Here Jack was, of course, skirting the truth of the matter, but he had found that his customers were far more happy to comply if he worded it in this way. While the hog's fat could certainly ease a man's passage as he pressed inside another man's body and, by so doing, generally increase such pleasant feelings as were produced in that action, this was not its chief purpose. Rather, its chief purpose was not to aid the man who was doing the entering but instead to aid the man who was being entered into, and who generally felt it to his disadvantage if such measures were not used. Oh, to be sure, there were some who (not to be coy about our wording) could be buggered with little more than a slick of spit and a long push (and Jack knew this well, for, while those not familiar with his profession would assume that he provided, above all else, a willing rump; the fact of the matter was that a goodly number of Jack's customers far preferred to be the one buggered than to be the buggerer). And so, while Jack knew, first-hand, that some men could be ready to receive a cock with only the briefest 'how do you do', he also knew that he was not one of those men. Indeed, Jack knew full well that what he liked in such situations was hog's fat, and lots of it. (Go back)

13\. But Jack did not sell it. He kept it instead, and perhaps still has it to this day. (Go back)

14\. Indeed it was not strange at all. For there are many gentleman who find that they greatly desire to lie in warm arms at night, and yet greatly detest waking up in a whore's bedroom upon the morning. (Go back)

15\. These were the Cards of Marseilles, which Jack had drawn himself (though perhaps 'cards' was too strong a word, as Jack's deck was drawn only upon slips of paper). For one who knew how to read them, such as Jack, the cards could be used to divine the truth or to divine the future. Jack had developed a habit of reading them whenever he was uncertain about his next course of action; and indeed it was the cards which had persuaded him to take up his employment at the King's Arms in the first place. (Go back)

16\. Jack, of course, did no such thing. He knew well that his chief appeal while at the inn was in his convenience and that he would hardly be so convenient in a big city where poor yet well-dressed men could be found in abundance. It seems that Jack did, however, take some of Nan's counsel to heart. For it was not so many months later that he laid out a portion of his newfound money in the purchase of three new suits of clothes. He did not buy anything fancy but instead paid enough that the clothes would be well-made and hard-wearing (this was useful, for it turned out that these suits of clothes would come to serve Jack for the next thirty years or so). Indeed, Jack did not wish to buy anything fancy, nor brightly coloured, nor ornamented, but found himself with the notion (though he did not know where such a notion could have come from) that to wear all over black would be a very fine and noble-looking thing, even if it did sometimes make him appear as if he were in mourning. (Go back)

17\. Jack was true to his word. There are many, I am sure, and especially in later years, who would have been shocked to discover that when John Childermass went off on his two free days each year, he used them only to visit an old roadside inn on the other side of York. And here he was always sure to get a good reception, and a comfortable one too. For, not so many years after this tale ends, the landlord finally succumbed to one of his many illnesses and surprised everyone by leaving the sole ownership of the King's Arms to Nan, who took it upon herself to turn it into a thriving business. (Go back)

18\. And how far John Childermass had come! To think that Norrell, a man who had not even deigned to trust his butler with the hiring of a stablehand, now trusted his most prized possession (being his library) to one man! (Go back)


End file.
